Clandestine
by Pink Cloud Assembly
Summary: -"The heart has its reasons which reason knows not of." - Blaise Pascal. // Two brothers discover something life promised them they could never have. When bigotry and shame find them, will they fight, or fold?


Clandestine

By: Pink Cloud Assembly

_AN: So the hiatus thing didn't really work out. As many of you will notice, I've almost completely cleared my old account out. The stories I have up will remain, but I will not be posting under that account anymore. Why? Because then, I was a trigger-happy new author who cared more about quantity than quality. It's true. I don't exactly know what the hell happened with this story the first time around, but I can assure you the same thing **will not **happen again. Updates will probably be kind of spaced out, as I'm suffering severe writers block right now. I just wanted to let people know I didn't drop this story, and if I haven't lost you guys, I hope you'll enjoy it even more the second time around. _

_Also, first few chapters are always a little short. Once I get back into the habit of writing they'll get a bit bigger, don't worry.  
_

"_I had a stick of CareFree gum, but it didn't work. I felt pretty good while I was blowing that bubble, but as soon as the gum lost its flavor, I was back to pondering my mortality._"_ - Mitch Hedberg._

* * *

Saturday nights at the lair had become dull and tiresome in recent years; in Mikey's opinion, anyway.

Don was busy single-handedly combating killer-computer viruses wriggling into millions of computers worldwide, while Leo was occupied with perfecting his calligraphy, as well as catching up on his reading, and Raph… Well. Raph was busy being Raph.

When he really thought about it, he almost felt sad. It wasn't as though he had given up on his pledge to never grow up, but he _did_ miss favored childhood games such as Ninja-Tag, Keep-Away, and the ever popular: Follow The Leader, Midnight Manhattan Edition.

Sighing, he shuffled into the kitchen and lazily tore into the snack pantry, looking for something to put his mind at ease.

It wasn't _all_ bad having so much free time, he mused. He even surprised _himself_ when he realized his interests actually branched_ away_ from comics and cartoons. Not that he didn't still enjoy those things. But now, his time was well distributed. Some days he would do nothing but sit and watch the news, others he would practice his skateboarding, and sometimes he would tinker with a program Don swiped for him in CAD (Computer aided design) basics.

At first, the idea of using such a sophisticated program seemed impossible. But it wasn't nearly as complicated as he had originally thought. After a lengthy crash course, he now had plans for a special skate course he hoped to start on in the summer in the South side sewer system-- with Don's help, of course.

It seemed to him that _any idiot_ could throw something together with some nails, wood, and glue, but nothing was ever as easy as it seemed. He knew from experience that building was a very complex process of thought, and since he wasn't looking forward to cracking his skull open on a faulty ramp or anything.

He'd do the dreamwork on the computer, and Don would decide what was realistic and what was pure fantasy. Sooner or later, though, he'd have a totally wicked boarding course. Besides, that meant they would finally be spending some time together. It felt like forever since they'd hung out, just the two of them.

Nothing in the snack pantry looked good. Mostly because everything was in clear, plastic containers. It made everything look bland and unappealing, but it was the only way to keep unwanted guests out.

Little brothers were always an exception, though.

Humming a nameless tune, he began the meticulous task of sorting through the marked containers, making faces at some and groaning at others. Dried fruits, nuts; things that could undoubtedly survive a nuclear holocaust.

He blinked and cocked an eye ridge, the word_s Bubonic Plague_ flashing in his minds eye for some reason.

He eventually found a giant pre-packaged box of Cheeze-Its and swiped two or three 'fun sized bags', muttering that he would find a full size bag much more fun. Before retreating into the living room, he made a big deal of folding the cardboard edges of the box back into place, making it appear as though he had never been there.

No need to alert anyone that he'd been dipping into the snack pantry, after all.

When he got to the couch he dumped the snacks onto the cushion and walked around it, crouching in front of an old cardboard box loaded with old VHS tapes and Nintendo cartridges. While doing this, he cast a curious glance over towards Raphael's bedroom door, wondering if he would join him or not. Probably not.

Raphael had stomped up there sometime earlier, muttering darkly about this or that. When questioned, however, he simply replied that unless Mike wanted a fist upside the head to mind his own business.

So he did.

Shrugging, he shoved a VHS tape into the VCR.

Raph was always upset or overly excited about _something_, though he hardly had outbursts like he used to. He was still the same old Raph he'd always been, just… a little more in control of himself now. Whether it was a learned skill or simply old age catching up to with him, he didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care. It was _nice _not to be smacked upside the head every ten seconds, whether he actually did something or not.

Grinning, he headed back to the couch.

They were older now, more mature; though try as he might, he _still_ didn't see what was so fascinating about musty old text books and math equations; katas and mediation were as boring and unstimulating as they were when he was ten; and while he still enjoyed prowling around the garage, Raph just didn't seem to want him around lately.

Then again, he thought with a crooked grin, when had Raphael_ ever _wanted him around?

While Raph spent his early childhood years drilling a sense of fear and submission into his younger siblings , a good chunk of Mike's was focused on getting him back. And sometimes the pranks he would come up with were so well thought out and elaborate that even The Great Leonardo would commend him.

_Childhood well spent_, he thought, trying to recall the last prank he'd pulled. He seemed to recall wrapping everyone's weapons in saran wrap one evening, though the smack he received to the back of the skull made his memory fuzzy. Totally worth it, though.

Remote in hand, he flipped the television on (all six of them) and sat back into the couch, not bothering to fast forward through all previews.

Last night he'd been forced to sit through _The Darjeeling Limited_ with Don and Leo (Raph sat through the first five minutes, declared it '_lame as hell'_, and left). Both his brothers appeared to enjoy the movie, though after the first twenty minutes or so, Mike found himself wishing he'd left when he'd had the chance. It angered him that he had been forced to sit through ninety minutes of that crap, and that that was no way he would ever get those ninety minutes back.

Seriously, how was a movie about three brothers on a train for half the freakin' movie, screwing Indian chicks and smoking cigarettes_ so interesting?_ If _that_ was good taste in movies, then he was perfectly content sticking to Johnny 5 and Spaceballs.

Tonight's film was from 1998, though, so hopefully it wouldn't tip the Richter Scale of _Suck_ any farther than the other movie already had.

Around ten minutes into the beginning, he heard the sound of bare feet against mats, which he knew to be in the dojo, and briefly turned away from the screen, his eyes fixating on Leo.

"Hey," he called from the couch, absolutely_ demolishing _a bag of Cheeze-It's with his foot by accident.

The loud, ungodly crunch made Leo's face twist up in agony, his shoulders reflexively scrunching. Strange, and often loud noises accompanied Michelangelo where ever he went. They were very hard to anticipate, though they usually chose to reveal themselves in the most awkward of moments.

Curiously Leo leaned over the couch, seeking out the source of the obnoxious crunching noise when his eyes flickered to the literal _wall_ of television screens before him. Why they needed so many, he would never know.

"What are you watching?"

"_A Fish Called Wanda_," he said, turning the volume up a bit. Maybe Leo would take a hint.

"_A Fish Called- what?_"

Then again, maybe he wouldn't.

"_A Fish Called Wanda_," he repeated, donning the deep, thundering voice of a movie voice-over. "A tale of murder, lust, greed, _revenge_… and seafood."

"Seafood," Leo repeated skeptically.

"Yep. That's what the previews said."

Leo didn't understand Mikey's preference in films. Most of what he watched was severely outdated and, well… stupid. _Incredibly _stupid. He didn't understand why his brother didn't enjoy the types of movies he and Don did, like the one they watched the other night.

"Okay, new question."

"Shoot."

"Where is everyone?" his open palm swept the vicinity. Empty. Clean. Silent. Well, sort of, anyway.

The seconds slowly ticked by. Leo began to wonder if perhaps he had stopped existing at some point in their conversation. His younger brother had an uncanny -and somewhat scary- ability to force voices and faces into the background when he was extremely focused.

Granted it didn't happen often, but when it did, it was a spectacle to see.

"Mikey?"

"What? Oh. Raph's upstairs."

"Doing what?"

"How should I know?" he replied curtly, exaggeratively blowing air out of the corners of his mouth.

"Did he look mad?"

"Who? _Raph?_" Mike barked a laugh, actually breaking visual contact with the screen. "Dude, when _isn't _Raph mad? But you know, maybe he_ was _happy. Who knows? I think his face is stuck like that. You ever notice he looks the same all the time? Sad Raph, scowl. Mad Raph, scowl. Tired Raph, scowl. I'm beginning to notice an alarming pattern here, Leo. How 'bout you?"

Leo's brow creased in mild concern. As far as he knew, he hadn't upset Raphael, and he couldn't recall hearing any sounds of an argument between him and anyone else. He decided to let the issue rest. After all, if he was upset about something, sooner or later they'd _all _know.

"What about Don?"

Mikey shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah, sounds good."

"_Mikey!_"

"Whauuut?!" he interrupted, his head dropping back into the couch, uttering a pitiful whine.

Leo had thought that particular whine would eventually fade with age.

How wrong he was.

"What about Don?" he asked.

Sighing, he grabbed the remote and hit the pause button. "What _about _Don?"

Leo rolled his eyes, starting to feel irritated. "Where is he?"

"Uhhh... He said something about spare parts for a something or… something." He dismissed the clearly-already-forgotten explanation with a shake of his head and a wave of his wrist. "Somethin' like that."

The television screens flickered back to life.

Though slightly irked with his brother's inability to recall specific details, Leo couldn't help but chuckle softly. "A '_something_', Mike?"

"Yeah, you know. A thing," he explained hurriedly, his brows knitting together in deep concentration. "Don likes things."

"What kind of a 'something'? Did Donnie not tell you, or can you just not remember?"

"Whatever he's been working on lately, I guess. Something about… exhaust valves and… power outages?" he shrugged. Not the most in-depth explanation he'd ever given, but Don had said a lot of things before leaving. How was he supposed to remember all of it?

Okay, at least now he had a better idea of where Don was, _without_ having to call him. He felt bad bothering him when he was topside sometimes. "Did he say when he'd be back?"

Mike thought for a second. "Couple'a hours. I don't know. I'm trying to watch this."

Leo bit back something of a nasty remark and shook his head. "Okay. Try not to get wrapped up, though. It's your turn to make dinner tonight. And for once in your life, stick to the recipe, will you?"

"Whatever, _Captain Lame-o_," he emphasized the O by jutting his lips out over his front teeth, sporting the overused surfer accent.

Leo turned away from the couch, but lingered for a second longer, starting at his brother.

"_How _old are you again?" He asked pointedly.

Again he was met with the exasperated groan. "However old you _want_ me to be, dude, just _go _already."

Leonardo stared at his brother in something close to amazement. Michelangelo had clearly chosen to ignore his quip. He sighed gently and shook his head. Even when he won, he never _really _won.

"Don't forget."

Mikey lazily waved his acknowledgement. "I _got it_, Leo. I'm not _totally _incompetent. Hey, you seen the remote? …Leo?"

Twisting around on the couch he frowned, catching sight of his brother walking up the stairs, like a chump.

_Why walk when you can jump? _He thought, but did not say. So 'traditional', that brother of his.

"Yeah, because that conversation was totally over with. Not like I was asking you a _question_ or anything!"

_* * *  
_

As Leo made his way up the stairs and past Mikey's room, he paused next to Raphael's. A part of him felt it necessary to peek in and see if he really was upset, though he wasn't sure of what he could do if he was. Eventually, he decided against it.

There was no point in attempting to get caught in the crossfire when there was no proof a battle was going on to begin with, he decided.

Entering his own room, he paused again, catching just the tail end of a conversation. He assumed, by the tone of voice being used (relaxed, yet still gruff) that Casey was on the other line. The two were probably discussing plans for later in the evening.

_Great_, he thought with a soft shake of his head. _What a perfect waste of an evening, spending it knee deep in city trash and blood._

With that in mind, he plucked a book from a shelf and began to read.


End file.
